Bloody Teeth
by KalGal
Summary: "The city comes alive late at night and nothing makes the blood pump faster than the coon of a trumpet and the resonating beat of a drum kit in his underperforming heart. Its why he opened his bar in the first place, a call to the deep dark side of the city that shielded away from sunlight and flourished in the shadows." AKA The Steve Owns A Bar For Avenging Mob Bosses Fic.


Disclaimer: I do not own these guys.

A/N: This story goes well with "The Great Gatsby" Soundtrack.

During the heat of the summer months, a languish settles over the city in the form of steaming trash and a continuous haze of smoke. Warm nights with open windows and billowing curtains added to a lethargic atmosphere, only broken by the _tat tat tat_ of mob guns in dark alleys and the spewing of drunk dock workers drinking their way through their pay.

Steve loves the summers. The warm weather keeps the worst sicknesses away even if the mucus in his lungs thickens into a gritty paste in the back of his throat, the look of a city lit up from a sunset is undefinable even with a few colors missing. The city comes alive late at night and nothing makes the blood pump faster than the coon of a trumpet and the resonating beat of a drum kit in his underperforming heart.

Its why he opened his bar in the first place, a call to the deep dark side of the city that shielded away from sunlight and flourished in the shadows. The cops had raided the place on numerous occasions and turned tail when they spotted the very people that called the club home. The only place in the city made entirely on neutral grounds.

The Italian mob liked the imported beers Steve wrestled out of Italy from a latent boat captain and paid back in the form of police protection. The Russians controlled every worthwhile media outlet within a three state perimeter so no raid even made it in the papers let alone the nightly radio news for dishes made like those from the mother country. The Irish took a liking to the quiet back rooms good for deals and drop points, in exchange for for foreign ingredients from their underworld contacts.

Ms. Romanov was the first, a sly dame who swaggered in with a dirty copper on her arm and a red smile painted on her lips. She had a pipe the length of her arm Steve repeatedly told her to take outside but which she smoked by the small window in the corner of the bar leaving behind the tang of clove in the air. Her crooked gumshoe always lounged against the bar, collecting drinks and making small talk with the bartender, Sam. Romanov also took great pleasure in bringing in canaries to sing late into the night, dames with guns in thigh holsters and lips as dark as their pasts. Steve's regular, Peggy, loved the competition.

Tony was the new leadership of the Italian mob with a taste for the finer things in life. He shut down the prostitution rings not long after being denied entrance to Steve's club before returning with a bouquet of flowers and crate after crate of fancy hooch. Along with Tony came the dame Pepper, a crack shot moll with wonderful taste in music and just as quick on her feet as any man. An added bonus to Tony's goons came in the form of Dr. Bruce Banner, a joe that was as calm as a clam until angered.

The brothers of the Irish mob were a bit harder to please. The eldest followed his flame into the bar and the rest was history. Thor was known around town as was his reclusive brother, meaning the security and anonymity offered by Steve and his gang was a welcome distraction from their family strife and the trailing flatfoots. Their tommy guns were the best in town, well made and sturdy, Steve had one mounted below the counter, loaded and waiting for a reason to be brought out.

Steve was a conductor of a dangerous symphony, calming the most deadly people to ever rule over the big apple. He cooked the best dishes and served the best drinks, he hired the best singers and shipped in the most talented musicians. He crafted the darkest peace to ever hit the mob world in the glass tumblers on his shelf and the polish on his floors. Steve held all the cards in his bar, all weapons put away, no fighting on the dancefloor, no sex in the shaded corners, he singlehandedly brought together the darkest souls the city had to offer and made them snap at his heels.

To bad no one told James that.

* * *

Now to be fair, James had scouted out Mr. Stark's trip to and from work all over the city. for all of his swagger, the Italian had a good head on his shoulders, switching cars every hour and drivers every three. He moved like a ghost and had James been anyone else, he might have lost him in the winding streets of that godforsaken city.

Stark's only constant was nights spend in a bar on the west side. It was a shack with painted signs and a large red door facing the street. More interesting was the company it attracted. Stark entered at nightfall, his people laughing and slapping others on the back as they moved past, an Italian hang-out than. James picked his way off the roof, landing into the adjacent alley with little noise besides the hiss of a cat. He dodged his way between puddles in the road and drew his brim down a bit lower before popping his collar and entering the bar.

The room smelled of expensive cigars and clean sweat. Even with the early hour, men and women were swinging around the dancefloor, their shoes leaving marks on the polished floors. James stole a booth off to the side, jerking his wrist and sending the water from his cap onto the floor.

"Hey watch where you fling that!" A man hissed, rubbing a hand down the front of his trousers and glaring at James. "If you wanna sit there you are going to need to order something."

James just smiled at the blond boy fuming to his side. His target was lounging across the bar with a tumbler of hooch in one hand and a beautiful lady hanging on the other. From his booth, the sightlines were cut off but Bucky could still keep an eye out. He flashed his most charming smile at the boy.

"What's good here?" James winked and felt his cheek dimple.

"You got a buzzer under that coat cuz' thats the only reason a man comes in here smiling like that," The boy tilted his head and planted his bony hands on his equally bony hips, barely hidden under worn thin cotton.

"Hey now, I ain't no copper!" James defended, letting his head hang low and glancing up at Stark through his fringe. A blond mop blocked his view and his head shot up to meet the man's raised eyebrows. "Well now, can't a man see what he's missin'?"

"Not a gunsel like you, and for the record, you wouldn't make it within a foot of Tony before his goons plugged you full of holes," The man made a shooing motion and when James slid in, the man took his place and leaned his head onto his propped up elbow. "You see, you sure as hell ain't the first trigger man to come slouching through these parts looking for your next score and you sure as hell won't be the last. Take it from the owner of this bar, take your life and leave."

"What gave me away?" James asked, his smile turning sly as the man stood and dusted down the already clean table. He smiled and winked back at James.

"Well…" He leaned forward and pressed the heel of his hand against the butt of James' gun tucked into the holster along his hip before pressing his lips to his ear. "I assumed that was a gun in your pocket, not that you were just happy to meet me."

James could feel the blush across his cheeks and smiled at the floor before glancing up and meeting the man's eyes. He smiled a sly smirk before taking a few steps back and slipping almost flawlessly into the twirling smoke and rushing crowd like a ghost.

James let himself out and the chill of the evening was like a slap to the face. His lungs contracted and a laugh bubbled out of his chest before he grabbed at his inside pocket for a cigarette and lit it with shaking fingers, the cherry burning bright in the damp darkness.

* * *

"You got an admirer, Rogers?" From over the dull roar of the bar, Tony's voice sounds distorted, darker. "You know how I hate to share my toys."

Steve polished the last glass before taking a deep breath and facing one of his best paying customers. He raised an eyebrow at Tony's obnoxious pinstripe suit and the obvious bulge of the gun at his hip. The boss just smirked and leaned over the counter to press their faces close.

"That boy here for something more than the good booze?" Tony whispered, his mouth tugged down in a serious scowl, his previous boisterous expression covered. "You know we got all the good coppers off the trail. If you want, I can send a few of my boys out to give the nice man a Chicago overcoat."

"I don't need your goons to do anything of the sort," Steve hissed, grabbing two glasses from the drying rack and the good hooch from the cabinet in the back before pouring a finger and throwing it back. Tony laughed and followed suit.

Tony trailed a finger down Steve's cheek, stopping at the upturned collar. Steve could feel the heat pooling in his gut and turned his head when Tony leaned farther across the bar. He laughed and let his head drop to Steve's collarbone where his liquored breath raised gooseflesh.

"This boy bothering you, Steve?" Natasha broke in and Steve pushed away from the bar, his cheeks flushed and his shirt rumpled. He moved for his mixer and listened to the Russian mutter about bad business down at the docks. He could feel his heart pounding inside his chest in a staccato rhythm. He placed the White Russian before Natasha and listened while she crooned about his skills.

"Get me a sidecar for the road," Tony sighed and tossed a rolled wad of cash down on the sticky counter. Steve pressed his fingers to the end and listened as they slapped against each other. He raised a brow. "Don't be sending me that look, all that's clean dollface, honest!"

"Sure and I'm six feet tall," Steve dropped the green into the till and shot a glare at the Italian before sliding a glass to him filled with amber liquid. "Be careful out there Tony, you got some gunners on your tail."

"Honey, I always got men snapping at my heels." Tony smiled and laughed, throwing back the cocktail with a grin before slipping the glass back to Steve. With a wink he made his way to the door with his men flanking him. With an elegant twirl, he called back to Steve. "That's what makes this job fun!"

* * *

Tony would be lying if he said he didn't stash a tommy under his pillow. Steve had rattled him with his concern. The boy was almost a force of nature, nothing fought him, they just battered down and waited for the storm to pass; so his infallible strength showing a crack? A little worrying.

"Sir?" Jarvis called from the door, a small golden tray situated in his hands and a note propped up with embossed lettering spelling out his full name. Obie than, needing to discuss some part of the finances that required the boss's approval.

"Lovely, just wonderful Javis, thank you," Tony sighed and sat up, his back protesting. He pulled on his freshly pressed shirt and trousers, snapping his suspenders and clicking his cufflinks together in the process. He made his way down the hall and to the waiting car, eating breakfast along the way. "I need to talk with Steve tonight, can you have that arranged?"

"Of course, Sir."

"Thank you Jarvis," Tony hummed and drove off, an uncomfortable feeling lighting up in his gut. He leaned forward, waved a finger in the direction of the driver, he glanced back and tipped his hat.

"What can I do you for sir?" His thick Brooklyn accent was harsh and Tony must have made a noise because the driver smiled.

"I was just wondering how soon till we get to my uncle's plant?" Tony glanced out the window and watched the cars fly by and the shop windows blur if he watched one place for long enough.

"It will be over in no time, Mr. Stark," The driver said, tipping his hat again before tucking a loose strand of brown hair behind his ear and flashing a dimpled smile.

* * *

Natasha didn't get to this place in life with weak wills and a lack of control, so when her girls tell the Winter Soldier has crossed her turf, all hell breaks loose. She sends out her feelers, working women that monitor the street corners and lick up the secrets spilled in the bedroom, high powered socialites who collect whispers, men in suits that deal in knowledge, she owns them all.

She is the Black Widow, the most feared of the bosses, the one that cops never knew existed until she made herself known and even she wonders how large the blowout will be after the Winter Soldier deals his blow. And he will, she knows, he always does, always did.

"Well now, a pretty dame like yourself can't look so damn nostalgic," Her head snaps up and she smiles at Steve. Strong, dependable Steve, who made the impossible a reality. She tipped her glass in his direction and he pulled out the vodka, imported in and the best in town.

"Keep giving a girl this kinda treatment and she might think you were up to somethin'" She drawls, imitating Steve's tilt to a tee. The bartender's lips quirked up before placing another drink in her hand. They grinned silently in the empty bar and, even against her wishes, she remembers the first time she entered this bar, the sticky counters and the slow jazz but also the croon of Peggy and Steve's no nonsense attitude.

"What's got you so tightly wound?" Steve muttered, polishing glasses. He glanced at her from the corner of his eye, raising a delicate eyebrow at her scowl. "How long have we known each other Natasha?"

"Don't pull that move Rogers," Natasha sighed and, out of habit more than mistrust, checked the sightlines and exits. "A new player came in last night. It has me worried. After the Stark patriarch died, we almost had war and seeing as the Winter Soldier's eyes never strayed from Tony last night, I feel like war is just what they're asking for."

Steve said nothing, just listened, cleaning his glasses and offering her the solidity of his presence. She raised her hand a bit and Steve refilled her cup, the liquor splashing over the rim before pooling on the bar counter. Natasha, the Black Widow, threw it back and for the first time since escaping Russia, pretended the clench in her stomach was from the drink.

"The boys down at the dock saw a shiny Hudson Essex-Terraplane 8 speed past into the warehouse district. If I remember correctly, Stark bought one not too long ago?" Loki was lounging in the sitting room, the open window left the curtains billowing. Thor was standing at the counter cooking supper. The domesticity of it made him want to hurl.

"Maybe Stark had another lady friend who wanted a tour of the many buildings owned by a billionaire playboy?" His brother mused, lifting a lid and inhaling the steam. He smiled and grabbed two bowls from the cabinets and spooned out portions for both of them. "I know you don't do well for long in one place but you can't start a war just because you feel an itch coming on."

His brother, for all his bravado, was a highly intelligent man who knew too much about Loki and how he thought. He spooned the soup into his mouth and glanced up, raising an eyebrow to a hovering Thor. When he nodded, his brother smiled broadly and went to work devouring his own portion.

"Do you feel up to a night out on the town and by that I mean Mr. Roger's establishment," Loki asked causally, swirling his spoon around in the thick broth and watching his brother's expression change.

"This car has you worried," Thor guessed, setting aside his food and giving a harder look to his brother. "You hate everything that isn't alcohol in that place so Stark's soree into the docks has really gotten you worried."

"Nothing of the sort," He huffed, bringing a napkin to his mouth to distract from the lump stuck in the back of his throat. "Yes fine, it makes little sense for Stark to keep the peace this long only to destroy it over a tart in a short dress. I was hopping the others might know a little something about it."

Thor hummed and pulled Loki's bowl to his chest, slurping it down before throwing back his drink and standing, clapping his hands together with a smile before turning to his room to change. Loki watched him go, his mind drifting off in various directions.

When he had decided to leave his homeland, he was prepared to abandon everyone from his past life. A new start would do him good for the pain he had caused. But reason and logic stood no match for his brother and his unshakable trust in the goodness of others so when Thor showed up at his doorstep only days after leaving, Loki did the only thing a fugitive could do with a brother like Thor. He let him in and then never made him leave.

Loki knew what family could do and he knew the pain of losing them. He wouldn't make the same mistake twice.

* * *

Tony could feel his fingers going numb. The cool ocean air pushed painfully against the tear in his side and the blood pooled around his fingers made matters worse. Added to by his breath becoming harder and harder to swallow through the thick gag made Tony feel like his lungs were thick in his chest. His hands were tied to the small of his back causing a tight pull on his dislocated shoulder; never let it be said that the "Iron" Stark went down without a fight. Barnes was dabbing at his broken lip and a small trail of blood leaked from his temple to drop onto his white lapel.

"What, did ya mess up your pretty suit?" Barnes mocked, smiling with blood on his teeth and a slick twist to his mouth. He reached into his coat pocket and flicked a cigarette out before lighting it with steady hands. He glanced up after his first drag and smirked at Tony, opening his mouth for what was no doubt another scalding remark on his honor when a voice called through the open warehouse area.

"James? It's Steve from the other night? A friend told me where to find you and I thought we might talk about…" His voice trailed off and James head snapped up, jumping forward and letting the safety click off on his gun. He moved forward and Steve can into view, beautiful, valiant Steve with his bright eyes and soft smile and iron will who looked radiant with pink dusted cheeks and his hands folding themselves into knots in his lap.

Tony couldn't be seen from his angle and every time he moved, James got twitchier with his gun. He moved forward with the butt sticking up from the waistband of his trousers and plastered a smile on his face.

"Now what little birdy was whisperin' in your pretty ear?" James hummed, moving forward with a swagger in his step and and sweet pull to his mouth. Steve blushed and looked down, taking another step forward, meeting James in the middle. Tony could feel his breath coming fast.

"Oh you know," Steve whispered, leaning in close to James ear and pressing his lips against his cheek, his words muffled by hair. Barnes leaned down and pressed his lips to Steve's quickly and passionately, pulling them closer together. Their lips made wet smacks and when they broke apart they did so with a sigh and a huff, respectfully.

James sent one look over his shoulder to the nook where Tony was tied with a smirk before pulling the gun from his belt and placing it in Steve's hand. Rogers frowned and replaced it in his empty holster, his gun missing, before taking off in a light jog out to the back of the warehouse. Tony could feel his heart pound its way into his throat and it only slowed when Steve turned the corner and spotted him.

Quick as usual with his knife, Steve had him free with little fuss and in his arms within minutes. Forcing his limbs to quit their quivering and pull Steve closer, he pretended as if the smell of cologne pressed into his neck was his own.

* * *

Steve woke to the chirping of a particularly loud bird call. His back was pressed to Tony's front and their sweat soaked skin had stuck together throughout the night. With minimal pain, Steve removed himself from the bed and the warm embrace of the expensive sheets. Eyeing his clothes with distaste, he pulled on a shirt that was not his own and walked down the hall to the small sitting room with the wide windows overlooking the grounds.

Jarvis caught him halfway there and promised to send a tray of breakfast his way after he finished his ironing. Steve smiled and nodded, his voice a little hoarse from last night. The seats in the greenroom were sun warm and as if he was expecting him, Tony had a sketchbook set out with an assortment of pencils. Normally Steve would refuse to use anything that would be bought with blood money, but he was reasonably sure Tony knew by now and besides, he was tired.

After his third sketch of the planes of James Barnes face and did he realize that a small tray of meats had been set along side of his chair along with a carefully folded note. Steve picked at the food until his curiousity got the best of his and he plucked the thick paper from its resting place, smoothing the crease out.

The words were scratched hastily, as if the author had been in a rush to send it. They made a small smile cross Steve's lips and his sore thighs twitch.

* * *

 _See You Soon._

 _~ J_


End file.
